


exchange, barter, trade

by ohtempora



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Time, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 01:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11544366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/pseuds/ohtempora
Summary: “I have a history midterm,” Dylan says. He waves his hands in the air. “I can't be like, sorry I missed the exam, Professor, I woke up with tits.”Zach coughs. “It'd be an original excuse?”





	exchange, barter, trade

**Author's Note:**

> many many thanks to luxover and addandsubtract for the help!! please let me know if there's anything I should tag or warn for, or any missed typos.

The first problem is that Dylan wakes up a girl, and the second problem is that, even in winter, he sleeps shirtless. He wakes up with aching weight on his chest when there was none, the muscles in his lower back cramping, empty space between his legs, and Zach's eyes on him, wide and staring.

Zach says, “Dude.”

Dylan looks down and sees breasts, looks further down and doesn't see a dick, and says, “Oh my god what the  _ fuck _ .”

“Yeah,” Zach says, and tosses him a balled up t-shirt. Dylan pulls it over his head. His-- tits, what the fuck, what the fuck-- swing when he raises his arms, and move when he collapses flat on his back, and he’s pretty sure if he was dreaming it would be a lot less awkward. He’s pretty sure this is real.

He looks at Zach’s flushed, shocked face. Definitely, unfortunately real.  

He says, “Oh my god.”

Zach scratches the back of his neck. He’s resolutely looking at Dylan’s face, not his chest, or his legs, and Dylan appreciates that. As stoic as Zach often is, Dylan doesn’t think he’s been this embarrassed since the first time they got caught drinking in high school by their parents, and it shows.

“I’m getting up,” Dylan says. He stands cautiously. Even standing feels different. He plants his feet on the ground and yanks the hem of the t-shirt down.

Zach peeks at him. “You gonna fall over?”

“I don’t think so,” Dylan says. He’s pretty sure, anyway. He thinks his hips are wider, maybe, skimming his hands over them. That’s probably why his back feels fucked up, but knowing doesn’t make the muscle spasms stop.

He stares up at the ceiling. It doesn't have any answers for him. He tries taking a step forward, and at least his legs work like they're supposed to, even if it feels weird. The act of walking feels weird. What the hell.

Nothing like this has happened to any of his friends or family, at least that he knows of. Dylan's pretty sure his brother or cousins would have said.

Intellectually he knows that punching the wall is a bad idea. No need to give himself a hand injury on top of a-- lower body one.

Maybe his laugh comes out a little hysterical. 

“I can't go to practice,” he says. “I can't skate. My hips are weird, and none of my shit will fit.”

“I mean.” Zach's back looking away and to the side. “I can tell Coach you're puking. He'll just tell me not to let you near me for the next couple days.”

“I have a history midterm,” Dylan says. He waves his hands in the air. It's disconcerting to talk to Zach with Zach so steadfastly deterring eye contact. “I can't be like, sorry I missed the exam, Professor, I woke up with tits.”

Zach coughs. “It'd be an original excuse?”

“No.”

“Even if he didn't believe you I bet you would get points for creativity.”

“No.”

“Someone else could take it for you?”

“That's cheating, and I would get kicked off the team, so. No.”

Zach says, “Then I have no fucking idea, dude.”

Dylan groans and flops down onto his stomach, then winces and turns so that he's on his back. “God. Fuck. Fuck!”

“I was gonna go to the dining hall, but if you want I can get you a bagel and bring it back.”

That’s actually a solid idea, and Dylan says so. He doesn’t think he’s up to going outside in a new body, ducking stares from people who recognize him but wonder why he looks a little bit different. “Everything bagel with cream cheese?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah, and I can bring back coffee.”

“I can use the Keurig,” Dylan says. He’ll sit up again soon, he’s pretty sure.

“Okay.” Zach grabs a hoodie and yanks it over his head. “I’ll be fast. Um, if you like, wore a sweatshirt to your test--” he gestures loosely in the direction of Dylan’s chest-- “I think you could get away with it for an hour?”

“Ugh,” Dylan says.

Zach snorts and says, “Bye, dude.” The door slams behind him, and Dylan reaches out to the nightstand for his phone, absently scrolling through it. If this happened to him, it’s probably happened to someone else. He doesn’t want to ask around, since he’s not sure he wants to have to  _ prove  _ it, but if he can find online flashcards for most of his gen eds, he can find out if other people have woken up in the wrong body.

-

When Zach comes back with a bagel, Dylan’s made a cup of instant coffee, texted Coach that he thinks he’s too sick to make it to practice and yes he’s being careful and won’t get Zach sick too, and spent a lot of time on parts of the internet he’s not sure he wants in his search history.

“You decent?” Zach calls through the door before he opens it, which is new.

“I’m not sitting here topless,” Dylan says, rolling his eyes. He makes grabby hands at the paper bag Zach’s holding. “Dude, I’m starving.”

“I got the cream cheese you like with the green onions,” Zach says. He sits cross-legged on his own bed, ripping at his own bagel with his teeth. He’s got a steaming cup of coffee as well.

“Thanks.” Dylan pulls the top half of the bagel off and takes a bite. They eat in silence, the only sounds in the room their respective chewing.

Finally Zach says, “You’re going to your test?”

“Yeah.” Dylan licks some cream cheese off his finger. “I think you’re right. I have a kind of tight under armor shirt that uh, can hold everything in, and I’m going to wear a sweatshirt over it, and like-- I don’t know, athletic shorts and leggings or whatever, and it’s only an hour-long exam anyway. Plus if I wear a hat-- I don't know, it's not too bad.” He glances down at his chest. His waist and hips feel off too, and the oversize Michigan sweatshirt he bought a year ago hangs differently.

Zach sighs. “But no practice.”

“Coach says don’t infect you and see the doctor if I think it’s getting worse.”

“Dunno how it could get worse,” Zach says. “You can’t turn more into a girl. Maybe unless you grow another boob.”

On instinct, Dylan flinches.

Zach says, “That probably won’t happen.”

“On that note,” Dylan says. “I gotta get dressed.”

Zach picks up the trash from their breakfast, then throws it out. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom,” he says. “Um. For privacy.”

Dylan squints at him, but he’s closing the door behind him, and then he’s gone.

-

His exam goes okay. He’s pretty sure he could have done better, but all things considered there are a lot of ways it could have gone worse. No one asks if he’s too warm in his sweatshirt, and though jogging down the stairs to get to the lecture hall hurts like a bitch-- Dylan’s sure he can’t get away with holding his boobs, stopping them from moving as he walks-- he makes it through the test.

Once he’s handed his paper into the TA, he books it back towards the dorms, stopping only to buy a couple of pre-made sandwiches. Talking to the cashier, at least his voice sounds more or less the same. A little panicked, maybe, but that’s all.

Zach is out at class when Dylan makes it back to the room, and he locks the door just in case any of their teammates decide to drop by. Hopefully they’ll think he’s sleeping off his alleged cold and stay away.

More time for research, he supposes.

He grabs his laptop off the bedside table. Thankfully he's less achy than he was this morning, pains that he assumes came from the physical change. When he runs a hand over his waist he can feel a more pronounced curve as it dips into his hip, but all his hard-won muscle is still there. While his stomach feels softer, his abs feel like his abs. He's still got hockey ass. Dylan thinks if he laced up his skates right now, it'd go okay.

Well, until he fell over from not knowing how to deal with a new center of gravity. Getting out of bed this morning was sort of wobbly.

Googling around isn't helpful, but it isn't  _ un _ helpful. There are people who claim this sort of thing has happened before to them, waking up the same way he did, biologically opposite. No one claims to know the exact reason why. Some people say a curse-- Dylan is pretty sure he hasn't given anyone reason to curse him, thanks. Maybe a really bitter Canadian hockey fan, but that seems implausible at best, and he doubts even Buckeyes fans would go so far.

Some people, in the comments of Blogger websites from 2006, say that it's stress. Try yoga and you'll be fine in four to six weeks. Some people say who the fuck knows but eventually they woke up changed back. Then there's people with suggestions: switching to a vegan diet. Dylan doesn't think that's an option. More yoga. Sex.

He closes the laptop and groans.

He doesn't have four to six weeks. They have a game on Friday. Veganism doesn't seem like a good option either. Maybe he could head down to the frats and pick someone up, but-- he's not feeling great about those chances, or creating a good enough fake Tinder to get himself laid.

_ fuck this shit,  _ he sends to Zach, who will at least know the context for Dylan's frustration, and grabs his shower caddy.

Except he can't just walk shirtless down the hall in his towel. Zach has a bathrobe, which Dylan's definitely made fun of him for, but it comes in handy. He grabs it off the hook by the dresser and slips it on.

No one is in the dorm hall, or the bathroom, and he gets into the shower. At least the hot water soothes his back, which is sorer than it ought to be. Dylan closes his eyes for a while before he looks down.

His tits are-- heavy, mostly. He can feel them hanging. He cups them and lets go abruptly and it hurts in a weird, dull way. He never realized, really, that that could happen.

Trailing his fingers over his stomach is okay. He dips in between his legs and feels wet and sensitive, leans back against the shower wall to try and massage out some of the knots in his thighs. What he should have done is ask Zach to steal him a foam roller from the trainers.

His efforts help a little. He feels more settled. Thinking about sex as a solution, what that'll mean, he tries touching himself again, pushing a finger inside his cunt. It feels like an intrusion, though it doesn't hurt. Dylan's never had anything inside him before. Once someone he hooked up with brushed her fingertip against his asshole, but nothing more.

Dylan considers his options. Frat row is out. He doesn't have a regular hookup right now. Maybe one of the guys on the team, if it was for hockey-- but he doesn't know how much he wants this to spread.

That doesn't leave him with a lot, but it leaves him with one option and a huge favor to ask.

Fuck.

Zach can’t even look at him right now without flushing and turning away. But Dylan has to.

-

“How was class?” he asks, when Zach gets back.

“You know that one kid who won’t shut up? That kid. He was fucking endless today.” Zach collapses onto his bed. “I hate that kid so much. No one has time for it.”

“Yeah, I feel you.” Dylan got dressed in loose sweats and an old Team USA shirt, hoping if he’s covered up a little Zach will actually look at him. This whole thing is so weird-- Zach’s never had problems looking at him. “So, uh, I looked some stuff up.”

Zach rolls over. “You see anything useful?”

“Kinda. Yeah.” Dylan runs a hand through his hair, then gets up to sit next to Zach on the bed, “It looks like I’m not the only person this has happened to. I mean-- it’s the internet, whatever, but yeah.”

“That’s good.”

“If I don’t do anything, or like, maybe do some yoga, I should change back.”

“That’s great!” Zach pats his knee. “You totally know yoga. In time for the game this weekend?”

“No, uh,” Dylan says. “Four to six weeks.”

“That’s not great.” Zach says. He moves his hand off Dylan’s knee. “Actually that sucks.”

“Yeah. There might be something else though.”

“Seriously, tell me, dude. You know I’ll help.”

That’s probably not as easy as Zach wants it to be. Dylan presses on. “It said that if you have sex you should wake up back to normal the next morning.”

“Oh,” Zach says. “Oh.”

“Look, I know,” Dylan says. “I do. But I can’t-- I could barely go to class, And I don’t-- if I ask anyone else then they’ll know. You already know.”

Zach says, “I get that.” He’s pink. “I’m just. Uh. That’s.”

“I  _ know _ ,” Dylan says. “I’ll owe you so big.”

He watches Zach’s teeth catch against his lip.

“You don't even have to kiss me,” Dylan says. It sounds desperate, but that's what he is. “Please, Z, I don't-- you're my best friend.” He reaches out and squeezes Zach's shoulder. “I literally wouldn't ask anyone else for this. I'm gonna owe you so big.”

“Jesus,” Zach says. He exhales. “Fine. And you better score in the game Saturday.”

“Obviously.” Dylan tugs at the hem of his too-big shirt. “You wanna get dinner first or should I take this off?”

“Oh.” Zach blinks, looking down at Dylan's hands, and the strip of skin underneath his raised hem. “You're taking me out for dinner if this works so I guess you should-- yeah.” Zach begins to strip efficiently, like he's getting undressed in the locker room, folding each piece of clothing as he goes. After minute hesitation he takes his boxers off. His dick is still soft, but Dylan stares at it. It's going to be in him, even if the anatomy isn't really his.

He's trying to make a joke of this, to make it easier on himself and easier on Zach, and-- it's funny, right? But it's not, it's so intimate, even if he's in a changed version of his body.

“I'm sorry if this is weird,” he says, soft.

Zach flinches, and then shrugs. “It's fine,” he says. “I said I would do it, so.” He wraps his hand around Dylan's ankle. “You wanna get these off?”

Getting rid of his sweatpants and shirt is easy. Dylan tosses them to the floor, purposefully ignoring the look Zach gives him. It's the same look he gets every time he leaves his shit around, which reassures him. If Zach can still get mad at him for being messy, they'll be okay.

“Hey, uh,” Zach says. He's kneeling at the foot of the bed. “If I just-- you know-- do you think you're gonna hurt?”

Dylan hadn't thought of that. He says as much, sliding a hand between his legs. Zach makes a small noise that Dylan doesn't know how to interpret. He feels skin, pretty much, and coarse hair, and while he's aware of the space there, he doesn't feel turned on.

“Usually with girls we fuck around first,” he says. “Or we're drunk. You know how it is.”

“Right.”

“So you probably shouldn't, uh. Stick it in?”

Zach winces. “If injuries like, linger when you switch back and you have some weird groin thing, we're probably fucked for the weekend games.”

Dylan looks down his body critically. It's easier to do this from the other side, when he's not constantly thrown by what should be there and what isn't. He tries cupping a breast but they still feel sore and heavy and strange. Rubbing his fingers low over his stomach feels better. He likes that, in his own body. Turns out it works for him here too.

When he gets his hand back in between his legs, Zach makes a choked sound.

Pressing a finger up feels-- he can feel it, and it doesn't hurt, but it isn't exactly good.

Zach's watching, and Dylan can't see if he's hard or not. And he's experimenting but he doesn't think it's that sexy.

Zach says, “I don't wanna hurt you.”

“I'm probably good,” Dylan says. “Sorry if I'm making you wait.”

“No,” Zach says. “Not that, I just--” he leans closer and gets a hand on each of Dylan's knees, nudging them further apart. He looks up from underneath his eyelashes. “Lemme try-- if this is weird I'll stop.”

“It's okay,” Dylan starts, and then Zach's mouth is on him, hesitant and hot. Zach drags his tongue up and it's mostly wet but there's a shivery edge of something good there. Not enough pressure. He says, “Wait, can you-- harder--” and Zach does.

It's better.

Dylan wants to ask if it feels weird, if he's reacting different than other girls Zach's hooked up with. Zach has never talked about them. But Zach repeats it once more, drags his mouth over Dylan, then licks. It's still wet and hot and mostly good, and still not enough. Dylan twists under him. He doesn't know what he's looking for but Zach's mouth is too low. He reaches for Zach's head, getting his hand in Zach's hair, arching his hips down. It's hard to choke back a gasp at that, so he doesn't. 

Zach pulls away.

“Sorry,” Dylan says immediately. “Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to--”

“No,” Zach says. “It's not that.” He turns his head and buries his face in Dylan's thigh, lips brushing against sensitive skin. Something jolts across Dylan's stomach and it takes effort to get his muscles to relax.

He doesn't know what Zach's about to say.

“I really like you,” Zach mumbles, words vibrating against Dylan's skin. “This is fucking weird, sex and like, you reacting when I do something, and I-- I guess you think I've done this before but I haven't. So.”

“You're a virgin?” Dylan thinks about it, but Zach's always been vague, and he's pretty sure Zach would have told him positively otherwise. He told Zach everything when it was him that summer back in high school. “Fuck, now I-- I don't know. I can tell you what to do?”

“No,” Zach says. “You don't get it.” He lifts his head up finally. His mouth is shiny and wet, and Dylan watches the way his lips move. “I mean I  _ like _ you and I used to picture my first time being with you all the time, but not like this. I mean the two of us together.”

“You like me,” Dylan repeats. He's staring at Zach's mouth, still, and he thinks that isn't helpful, but he just-- he didn't know, he never would have guessed, but he figures that he isn't surprised. He doesn't know what to do with the information, exactly, but he doesn't want to leave either.

“Yeah,” Zach says. “I'm sorry.”

“No, uh.” Dylan doesn't know how to make it right but he needs to get Zach to stop looking miserable, his face pulled tight. “You shouldn't be sorry. I don't want you to be sorry.”

“If you wanna call, like, Niko or JT or someone to deal with--” Zach waves a hand-- “You know, all of that. I get it, I can go stay with one of them and you can have the room. Since this is only supposed to switch you back and I'm fucking it up.”

“What? No.” Dylan yanks at Zach's shoulder, tugging him up until Zach is sprawled inelegantly along his side. They've pressed themselves together like this before, and it's always made Dylan feel better. He wonders now if it's made Zach twist up inside, stuck between their friendship and his feelings, wanting to touch Dylan, maybe kiss him.

Dylan can kiss him. He doesn't know if it'll help, but he wants to try.

“If this is weird I can stop,” he says, and takes a breath before he leans in. Zach freezes before he kisses back, parting his lips and closing his eyes, and with a jolt Dylan realizes he can taste himself in Zach's mouth. He presses in, bringing one hand up to grab Zach's shoulder, and Zach doesn't shrug him away. He lets his lips part and Zach still lets him stay.

“That, um,” Zach says when they break apart. “That didn't make me feel weird.”

“Okay, because I wanna kiss you again.” Dylan’s mouth feels like it gives more easily than it did when he was in his old body, and he can feel where Zach’s patches of stubble scratch against his skin. He wonders if tomorrow, if he wakes up himself again, if he’ll have lingering redness from it. Marks from kissing Zach, from Zach’s mouth. He doesn’t know what to do with the rest of it.

All Dylan knows is that this feels good so far. The rest of it, what Zach feels--

Zach’s eyes are dark and he looks down at Dylan’s mouth. Dylan tugs him in, pressing their chests together, their mouths.

He doesn't know how long they kiss, except that when they break apart panting, his mouth feels used and sore. Dylan looks at Zach, meets his gaze. “Hey,” he says softly. “If-- I swear if you wanna stop, even kissing, I get it. But I-- you're helping me out a lot right now. Since I woke up like this, really.”

Zach wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. He hesitates, and then he shakes his head.

Dylan says, “Okay.” He says, “Thank you.” He says, “You know how much I trust you, right? I can't--” Sex has never been a huge deal for him before. This is. “You're my best friend.”

“Thanks,” Zach says quietly, fingers brushing over Dylan's knee.

“I mean, it's all true.” And he needs Zach right now, wants this to be him, and he says that again, hoping Zach will see how sincere he is. How serious. “No matter how you feel I'd want you here with me either way.”

Zach pauses for a moment. Even though he nodded, Dylan thinks he looks conflicted. There's something worrying around his mouth.

“I'm telling the truth,” Dylan says. “Please, Z. We'll be fine in the morning when I'm back.”

When Zach exhales, it sounds like there's a muttered curse in it. But he swallows and nods. “You promise that,” he says.

“Yes. Of course.”

“Just tell me if it-- what I'm doing feels alright? Since I haven't, before.” Zach holds eye contact a second longer before he leans down, brushing a light kiss low on Dylan's stomach. He's holding Dylan by the hips, hands too tight, and Dylan lets his legs inch open even more. Zach kisses his thigh, and the inside of his knee, and his stomach again, and Dylan's pretty sure he's quivering.

“Uh, that, do that,” he says, his voice cracking on the last syllable. Zach-- giggles at him, wow, the tension between them apparently broken by Dylan sounding like he's going through puberty again-- and then puts his mouth back on Dylan’s cunt. He licks tentatively and Dylan wants to press up into Zach's mouth, open his legs for him.  “I promise you won't hurt me,” he says, and Zach’s tongue flicks over him before he does something with more pressure and Dylan sighs, “Yeah, like that.”

Zach makes a small noise, and Dylan thinks he likes being told it’s good.

“Up a little,” Dylan says. “Like, higher?” Zach listens, and then his mouth is right where Dylan didn’t know he needed it. He thinks he’s grinding up into it but Zach isn’t complaining, and everything feels hot and sloppy but it feels so  _ good _ . He touches Zach’s shoulder, then Zach’s hair, winding his hand in it, and asks if it’s okay. Zach mumbles a yes in response, and Dylan can feel Zach’s lips moving against his cunt.

His orgasm doesn’t catch him by surprise. It builds and builds, until he’s arching his hips off the bed, twisting, grateful that Zach’s got a hand on each of his thighs, holding him down. He's cursing, he thinks-- he's lost track of what he's saying. It feels the same as it did before and it feels different.

When he's done coming he feels himself go slack, pushing at Zach's shoulder. Everything feels sensitive. Even Zach's breath over him makes him twitch.

“Did that feel good?” Zach asks, looking up at Dylan from between his legs. Zach's mouth and chin are wet. Dylan reaches down and touches his lower lip.

“Yeah,” he says. “Holy shit, Z.”

“Cool.” Zach laughs, a touch self-consciously. 

“C’mere.” Dylan tugs at him until Zach is laying on top of him and they're kissing again. Zach tastes different and he knows it's because he's tasting himself on Zach's mouth. He can feel how hard Zach is, has the urge to shift underneath him until Zach is slotted in between his legs.

Zach gasps against his mouth, and Dylan skims a hand up and down his shoulders. Zach’s so solid. He’s always known it but he’s never quite appreciated it like this. He chases the taste of himself on Zach’s lips, pressing his hands flat against Zach’s back, feeling how the muscles underneath his palms shift. 

They keep kissing, and the heat between Dylan's legs won't go away. It's insistent, now. He wants to grind against Zach's leg. Anything to relieve the pressure. He bucks up, almost unknowingly, and moans.

He can feel how ready he is when Zach slides two fingers inside him. “Oh,” Dylan says, breath hitching; he didn't realize he wanted that, and he feels new muscles fluttering. His hand clenches in Zach's hair, tugging, and Zach moans against him.

“Dyl,” Zach says, pulling back. He licks his lips.

“Please,” Dylan tells him, hooking a leg up, opening himself up. Zach looks at him, full of hungry curiosity, fingers pressing up, and all Dylan can think about is how much he wants Zach’s dick, wants to feel him sink in.

Zach gets up on his knees, hand coming up to curl around his dick. It's Dylan's turn to look, and he does. In the locker room he's never indulged that particular curiosity to compare, but now he can stare as much as he wants. Zach's hard and leaking, and when he rubs his thumb under the head of his dick a tiny shudder runs through him. Dylan files that away for later, just in case. He doesn't know what will happen tomorrow, but he likes knowing about Zach. He always has.

“Can I?” he asks. Zach’s eyes flick down to him, and then he nods. Dylan untwists himself, getting up on his knees too so he can touch. Zach’s hot in his hand. It feels different than touching himself. Zach is girthier, and Dylan’s hand fits differently around him. He strokes Zach a couple times, getting used to it, how it feels like he’s jerking Zach off but backwards. Zach swallows, and Dylan tightens his hand on the downstroke, rubbing his thumb along the vein.

Whatever is in the pit of his stomach-- he doesn’t know, but he feels nervous, shaky, more so than when he lost his virginity, more so than his first kiss. When Zach’s hips twitch forward into his hand, Dylan’s stomach jumps.

“Alright,” he says. ‘Um.”

Zach’s teeth are caught on his lower lip. “You wanna, on your back, right?”

“I think so.” The ache between his legs is making him restless. He wants-- he looks at Zach’s dick again, how red the head is-- he wants to feel that. Letting his legs fall open, Dylan props himself up on his elbows so he can look at Zach’s face.

“Still alright?”

Zach chews on his lip some more. “Do you think we need a condom?”

“Oh,” Dylan says. Hopefully he wakes up switched back tomorrow, so. “Doesn't matter?”

“Okay.” Zach nods, touching Dylan's knee with a careful hand.

Getting into place takes Zach a moment, but he gets there. He’s so warm, Dylan thinks. They’ve shared beds, but they haven’t ever pressed together like this. He can feel Zach’s erection on his inner thigh, the bead of wetness it leaves behind, and he tries to open his legs wider, give Zach some room.

“Fuck,” Zach says, cursing under his breath. “I can't--” He's trying to angle his hips, but Dylan can feel Zach's length sliding along his folds. It feels good, still, but not what either of them want.

“Lemme,” he says, and reaches down, wrapping his hand around Zach. He leans up to mouth at Zach's collarbone and hitches his leg up until he's able to guide Zach in. He feels the head of Zach's cock breach him, and then Zach abruptly holds himself in place. Dylan can feel how tense Zach is, every muscle in his body strung up.

“It doesn't hurt,” he says. It doesn't. When he reaches down and brushes his fingertips over where they're joined, he can feel where he's stretched, and his inner thighs are complaining. Dylan doesn't usually open his legs quite like this. But he can feel how wet he is too, slippery from Zach's mouth, and how it's easing the slide.

He taps Zach low on his back and Zach huffs out an exhale before he pushes all the way in, bringing their hips together. Dylan swallows. He wraps his legs tight around Zach. He wants to hold Zach in place and he wants Zach to move and he wants them to be kissing.

Thankfully Zach reads his mind, and crashes their mouths together in something sloppy and harsh that leaves Dylan gasping.

“Oh my god,” Zach says, and buries his face in Dylan's neck again.

Dylan clenches around him, which also feels raw and new, and relishes the way Zach shudders. “Come on,” he says.

He wants Zach to come. He wants Zach to come in him. He's never really thought that about his best friend before. He won't be able to take it back.

Zach thrusts tentatively a couple times and then on instinct, Dylan grabs his ass with one hand and he starts to go for it. Dylan can hear the jagged sounds of their breath, the squeaking the beleaguered metal bed frame underneath them, the wet sound of Zach fucking him.

The sounds they’re making-- he might have thought it was embarrassing, once, but it’s just hot. Zach’s panting and he’s moving like he can’t help himself. The bed bangs and bangs and bangs against the wall.

“Um,” Zach says. He slows his strokes, pushing in more slowly, deliberately. “Should I-- I can pull out--”

Dylan really has no idea. He's caught up in it all; he wants Zach to come. “I don’t care,” he says. He drags his fingertips up Zach’s back again, brings his hands around so he can run them over Zach’s chest, fingernail catching on a nipple. It makes Zach hiss and twitch, and Dylan does it again. “Do it,” he says, and reaches blindly for Zach's hand.

Zach doesn’t come on command but it’s close. His hips slam in hard, and Dylan feels almost uncomfortably full; Zach does it again and this time Dylan feels him come, dick pulsing. It leaves him wet in between his thighs, wetter, and when Zach collapses on top of him his dick slips out.

Now he’s not even sure-- should they kiss? Dylan’s still got a restless, throbbing heat in his belly, and he wants to slip his hand down in between them and try to touch himself, but he doesn’t want Zach to run off to the bathroom and leave him in bed alone.

Finally he murmurs, “Zach?” and Zach shifts off of him. He’s red and panting and his hair is sticking up everywhere.

“Sorry, didn't realize-- if I’m heavy.”

“No, um.” Dylan squirms a little without meaning to.

“Oh,” Zach says. “ _ Oh.  _ I meant to, um.” He waves a hand. He’s staring between Dylan’s legs, and Dylan looks down so he can see what Zach’s seeing. There’s a streak of come on his thigh and he rubs at it with his fingers. Zach stares at that too. “Can I--” he blurts out, and Dylan nods even though he doesn’t know what Zach’s asking for. He finds out fast. Zach slips two fingers in him. Dylan’s so wet inside that it’s easy, and he lets his legs fall open so Zach can curl his hand over Dylan’s cunt.

“Fuck,” Dylan says. “Please.”

“That’s good?”

“Yeah.”

He liked Zach fucking him, even if it didn’t make him come, and this feels good too. Dylan can rub up against his hand, the movements familiar enough, even if he’s used to the external stimulation of dancing, or making out on a couch, being underneath a girl and holding her by the hips. Zach isn’t holding him but he feels pinned.

He comes likes that for the second time, under Zach's hand, grinding against his palm. 

-

Dylan wakes up.

Last night they should have pushed the beds together, because he’s lying mostly in the crack between the bed and wall and Zach is plastered up against his back, mouth open against Dylan’s neck. Everything is too warm, they’re sweating where they’re stuck touching each other, but Dylan doesn’t want to move.

They’re holding hands, he realizes. Zach’s fingers, laced between his, palm sweaty, and Dylan doesn’t care about that either.

But he feels bigger. His chest feels lighter, and when he worms a hand up he feels only his own pecs. He’s got morning wood, which means his dick is back, and his hips don’t feel as wide.

“Holy shit,” he says, and that wakes Zach up, and Zach falls straight out of the bed.

“Ow,” Zach says, from the floor.

Bracing himself on the headboard, Dylan leans and gives him a hand up. Zach gets to his feet, then remembers he’s naked, and scrambles to grab a pair of athletic shorts from where they’re folded on his unused bed.

“You okay?” Dylan asks.

“Yeah.” Zach fiddles with the drawstring of his shorts, then sits on his bed, shifting around. “You?”

“All present and accounted for,” Dylan says. He’s really fucking excited to pee standing up when he goes to brush his teeth, but he thinks he won’t say that out loud. “Guess it was temporary after all. Or, like, everything worked.”

“Guess so.”

He should probably do something about-- being naked, all that entails, but he stretches first, luxuriating in the feeling of everything being in the right place, no unexpected weight where it shouldn’t be, no lightness where there should be something else.

“So you’re all back?” Zach asks. More specifically, he asks the wall, which he is staring at with a fervor he usually reserves for conference games.

Dylan gets off the bed, grabs an old tank top off the pile of clothes on his desk chair and yanks it over his head. “I'm decent now,” he says. Normally he would tease Zach for this, being shy, but he thinks he understands. Thinking back to last night makes him want to shudder and press his legs together, except that's not-- his body doesn't react like that. Not like his other body. All of it will stick with him: Zach's red mouth between his legs, the tiny gasping breath he took when Dylan wrapped a hand around him and guided him in.

“Okay.” Zach doesn’t turn around.

Dylan stares at the stiff line of Zach’s back, the tension he’s holding in his shoulders. “I thought,” he says, and stops, because he doesn’t know exactly what he wants to say.

“You’re okay to practice?” The non sequitur makes Dylan raise his eyebrows. He’s sore, mostly his inner thighs and lower back again, and his shoulders feel kind of off. Nothing some ice and a massage won’t fix.

He kind of wonders what he'd feel like if he woke up not changed back.

“I’m gonna get a rubdown,” he says. “Told you, I’d be good for the game.”

“Alright then,” Zach says, and does his best imitation of a statue until Dylan sighs at him.

“I’m going to get ready and then go to the trainers,” he says. He can shower at the rink if he has to. “Z, just-- whatever. See you at practice, I guess.”  _ You can’t pass to me if you’re not looking at me,  _ he doesn’t say, because he doesn’t want to be mean. Dylan’s pretty sure Zach will snap out of it, once more than one night has passed.

The thing is, while there’s probably a solution for “my best friend admitted he has feelings for me”, Dylan is absolutely positive there isn’t an easy one for “and it happened while I was body-switched into a girl”. He thinks he could talk to one of the older guys on the team about the first one, or maybe his brother, if he needed a person who possessed subtlety. There’s no way Dylan wants to talk about his-- transformation-- with a teammate, and Colin would probably mock him for-fucking-ever, even if he managed good advice.

Practice helps, sort of. Dylan skates up and down the ice, letting himself go at full speed. The coaches let him for a while, until he has to go over power play drills, but he’s got some of the weird jitteriness out of his bones. Zach’s joking around with the guys, but Dylan notices how tight Zach’s hands are on his stick.

He thought they were gonna be okay in the morning. Dylan kinda hates it.

-

Zach’s quiet the next couple of days. Quieter than normal. He talks to everyone else, joking with the guys on the team, even joking with Dylan, and they communicate fine on the ice. On the ice, everything is just as it always was. Zach might not be looking at him off it, but he’s gotten over that particular hump during play.

But off it--

They get back to their room and Zach puts on headphones, or he steps out to call his parents or call his brother, or he avoids Dylan, studying late in the library. Dylan knows his class schedule. Zach doesn’t have any midterms for at least two weeks and he doesn’t write his papers  _ that  _ far in advance.

It’s uncomfortable.

He can't stop looking at Zach, either, compounding the issue. He watches the way Zach's muscles move when he's lifting before class, or how he smiles at his phone sometimes and doesn't realize he's doing it. The worst is the morning he wakes up before Zach and, instead of going to shower, notices how his eyelashes fan out over his cheekbones when he's sleeping. Dylan isn't proud of himself for that one.

Dylan lets it slide for a few days. He’s mostly happy to be back, after all, and Zach deserves time to process too. Zach lost his virginity to him, which is weird to turn over in his mind; Zach’s got his shit too.

Only a few days, though. He ducks out of his econ class early one day, sitting the back of the lecture hall to ensure that he beats Zach back to the room. Dylan sits cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through his phone, waiting.

It’s raining outside, and Zach comes back slightly damp. He strips off his hoodie and tosses it into his hamper, than sits down at his desk, pulling his headphones out of his backpack.

Dylan says, “Wait.”

Zach blinks at him.

“Can we talk?” Dylan asks. His mouth feels dry. “I-- please.”

Zach’s eyes dart to the door, and then he says, “Okay. If you want to.”

“Please,” Dylan repeats. He doesn’t really have a plan for starting, so he barrels on. Probably he can’t make the newfound tension between them worse. “I just-- ever since, you know.”

“Since we had sex,” Zach says. Now he’s looking at Dylan. His gaze is straight on.

“Since we had sex. Yeah.” Dylan looks back. “Things have been weird.”

“No shit,” Zach mutters, then looks up, realizing he said it out loud. Dylan doesn’t respond to it. “No, I know, I mean. I’m sorry.”

“We’re fine during hockey,” Dylan says. “It’s not about that, okay?”

“Okay,” Zach says. His hands are clasped neatly in his lap. He does that when he’s nervous, Dylan knows. When he’s waiting to be maybe cut from a team, or waiting for bad news.

“I don’t want things to be weird. And I know you told me some stuff, when it happened, and like--” Dylan shrugs. “It’s not going to make you not my best friend?” He watches Zach’s face, trying to see how Zach will respond, but he’s carefully stoic. “It’s not,” Dylan finishes. Maybe not the strongest finish, but he said it. “I swear.”

Zach doesn’t say anything.

“Z?” Dylan keeps looking at him.

After another long moment, Zach speaks. “Thanks,” he says. “That’s good to hear.”

“That didn’t help,” Dylan guesses. Zach’s giving nothing away. “Can you tell me-- I wanna help, Zach, okay? I don’t  _ like  _ this, and if I did it, that kind of sucks.”

“No. I mean, ugh.” Zach sighs. “I mean you’re trying.”

“Yes?”

Zach shrugs.

“I won’t know unless you tell me,” Dylan says, and Zach seems to come to a decision.

“Like, we slept together, but you were a girl,” Zach says. Now he’s looking down at his hands, cracking his knuckles. “So maybe it was-- different hormones on your part? Or you just wouldn’t wanna fuck me as a guy. And I can’t--”  His hands flex. “It doesn’t matter for me as long as it’s you.”

“Z,” Dylan says.

“Let me just--” Zach swallows. Dylan wonders how long he’s been holding onto this. If it started back in Ann Arbor, or last summer when Zach was frantically studying so that they could be at Michigan together, or god, maybe even further back. Dylan talking about his high school crushes and Zach listening quietly, mouth quirking up at the corners, not letting on that he wanted Dylan to talk like that about him.

He says, “Alright.”

“I like you,” Zach says. “I think you’re great. It was weird when you were in the other body because I-- didn’t think it would happen, if it did, you know? So.” He shrugs. “But you’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend too,” Dylan says immediately. He doesn’t know if it’s helpful, if it’s what Zach wants to hear. “I don’t know who else I would have trusted with this.” He waves a hand up and down his body. “Easy to be like, whatever, new tits, ask one of the boys on the team, but I don’t think I could.”

“I mean it’s okay if you don’t want to kiss me now,” Zach says. He tilts his head up and looks at Dylan. “I’m not going to not be your best friend anymore because you don’t want to kiss me. I might need to stay with someone else for a couple days, but I wouldn’t, okay?”’

“Okay,” Dylan says. “I-- I think you’re great too, you know that.”

Zach says, “Doesn’t mean you think I’m great the same way I think you are.”

Dylan bites his lip. “I just never thought about it before all of this,” he says. “I wouldn’t have been like, that’s an option. And now I keep noticing shit.” He sees how Zach’s gaze flicks down to his mouth, and he adds, “Is it okay if we try it? Kissing. Like this.”

“You back in your own body and everything.”

“Yeah.”

Zach stares at him for a moment before he says, “Okay.”

Dylan puts a hand on his shoulder, then laughs nervously, moves it down to Zach’s waist. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands-- he was fine with it a couple of days ago, he’s been fine so many times before. Leaving his hand on Zach’s waist is probably fine. He closes his eyes and leans in.

It’s just a kiss. It’s just Zach. When everything happened, Zach told him how he felt and Dylan wanted to kiss him then, so maybe it’s not about bodies. Maybe it’s about Zach.

Their lips brush, hesitant at first, like Zach’s waiting for him to pull away. If he wanted to he could. Dylan knows that.

He doesn’t want to.

He remembers last night, how his mouth gave underneath Zach’s, and he pulls Zach closer, deepening the kiss. Zach makes a tiny, hopeful noise, and he clings.

When they break apart they’re both panting. Zach doesn’t say anything, but his gaze is dark, and he’s searching Dylan’s face, looking for something. Dylan doesn’t know what Zach sees, but he knows the minute twitches of Zach’s stoic expressions by now.

“Um,” he says. “That was-- I liked that.”

Zach says, “Me too.”

Dylan takes Zach’s hand. It fits pretty well into his, he thinks.

“If you wanna do it again, I’m here.”

“Oh yeah?” Zach’s smiling now, the corners of his mouth tipped up. “Good.”

“I think so too,” Dylan says.

He thinks they’ll be okay. He thinks when they wake up together in the morning they’ll be great.


End file.
